


Tea and Sympathy

by N16



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur is an idiot, Bromance, But he cares about Merlin, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Drunk Arthur, Friendship, Gen, He tries to be a good friend, Various little things are revealed, birthday sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N16/pseuds/N16
Summary: Being king is a heavy destiny, and the price can be high. Sometimes Arthur feels like the world just wants to steal away everything precious to him until his destiny is all he has left. It’s a rough life. And he’s sure Merlin will be an appropriately sympathetic ear to his complaining. After all, his servant has no idea what it’s like to live under such shadows.
Relationships: Arthur/Gwen (mentioned), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Freya (mentioned)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 242





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snippets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758268) by [M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng/pseuds/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng). 



> This story was originally inspired by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng’s drabble “Birthday” from the story "Snippets." Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox!
> 
> I also want to acknowledge the influence of PeaceHeather’s "From the Shadows to the Light." Although I’ve seen the “destiny wants to take everything from me” idea for Merlin before, this particular fic would not have gone in that direction without the influence of that story (which is amazing, btw – I strongly recommend it if you’re not already reading it!).
> 
> Also, I don't know why I keep writing stories with drunk conversations. I don't mean to. It just happens.

“You know this is a roof, right?”

Arthur looked up to see Merlin frowning at him in concern.

“Yes s’Merlin, it’s a roof,” Arthur confirmed, rolling his eyes. It occurred to him belatedly that he should have been more careful about enunciating each word. Merlin certainly wasn’t going to miss the fact that Arthur was slurring his speech.

“A funny place to find you,” Merlin said, carefully climbing out to join the king, a wineskin clutched in his hand, “considering I distinctly remember tucking you into bed less than an hour ago.”

Arthur huffed indignantly. “You do not _tuck me into bed!_ ”

“I do when you’re drunk. I see you’ve dressed yourself again.”

“Of course I dressed myself,” Arthur said with a sniff. “I’m not completely incompetent, you know. And I wasn’t going to wander the castle in a nightshirt.”

Merlin smirked. “Your shirt is on inside out.”

Arthur looked down in alarm, hoping that Merlin was only teasing him. But sure enough, the seams of his shirt stuck out prominently. Arthur scowled and grabbed the hem, fumbling to take the shirt off.

“For gods’ sake, Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed. “Just leave it!”

“Kings shouldn’t wear shirts inside out,” he muttered through the material, successfully tugging it off before pulling it back on. His arm got stuck in the effort and as he fought against it, he heard a loud sigh and felt two hands grab the shirt and tug it into place. As his head popped through, Merlin’s hands slipped, and Arthur felt his heart leap as his friend lost his balance. His hand shot out and grabbed the man’s wrist, anchoring him in place.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “If you’re going to sit up here, you have to be careful! I do _not_ want to spend tomorrow scraping you off the cobblestones! Isn’t it bad enough—"

He broke off, cursing the words as soon as they left his mouth. He jerked his hand back and looked away, scowling at the dark city below him.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin assured him softly. “I just wobbled a little.” He hesitated, then added casually, “Although this isn’t the _safest_ place in the castle. Especially for a drunk king. Perhaps we could move this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere a little less steep, possibly with walls?”

“I’m not drunk,” Arthur muttered. “Just _celebrating._ " He held his own wineskin up for Merlin to see and added in a singsong voice, “Happy birthday to me.”

“The feast was a celebration,” Merlin disagreed. “This is drunken wallowing.”

“It’s just like last year.” Arthur took another swig of wine.

Merlin didn’t answer at first, and when he did, Arthur couldn’t read the tone in his voice. “How exactly is that?”

“Last year, you didn’t want me wandering around the castle after the feast. You thought I was too drunk.”

“You weren’t wearing trousers,” Merlin pointed out slowly. “But Arthur, you weren’t drunk. You were _drugged_.”

“Same effect in the end,” he mumbled, pulling the wineskin to his mouth to take another drink. But Merlin grabbed it and dragged it back down, forcing Arthur to look up at him in surprise.

He wasn’t expecting the expression on his friend’s face. Merlin’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenched with anger.

“You were _drugged_ , Arthur. You couldn’t help that. And you couldn’t help what happened.”

Arthur yanked the wine away and took an extra long drink, just to spite him. “I’m good with a sword, Merlin.” Damn it, his words were sounding mushy again. He pushed on anyway. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever _really_ been good at. And I wasn’t good enough to save him. I killed my mother, and I couldn’t save my father. I’m just…”

“Human,” Merlin interrupted, emphatically and softly, the anger gone from his voice. “Look, I know you don’t see much reason to celebrate today. I know you just go along with the feast and the celebrations because it’s expected of you.”

“I’m the king,” Arthur said by way of explanation, and Merlin snorted.

“Believe it or not, I am aware of that. You’ve mentioned it once or twice. But Arthur, those things, your mother and your father, they _weren’t your fault_. You have to understand that.”

Arthur felt a surge of gratitude for his servant. He’d thought he wanted to be alone when he came up here, and if anyone else had found him, he would have been irritated. But Merlin always knew the right thing to say. He was always there when Arthur needed him, even though gods knew Arthur didn’t deserve it.

“You’re a good friend, Merlin,” he slurred. But he froze as the words came out of his mouth, a sudden fear seizing him.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, concerned, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw him lean forward to try to get a better look at the king’s expression.

“Don’t ever die?” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, and Arthur had to admit in the back of his mind that perhaps he _had_ had just a little bit too much to drink. Kings shouldn’t lose this much control of their words.

“Don’t…what?” Merlin repeated. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing," he said, trying to backpedal and knowing it was futile. "Never mind. I'm just drunk."

"That much I know. Come on, Arthur. Tell me what you meant." Merlin gazed at him with perfect sincerity, and Arthur sighed.

“Sometimes I feel like… like destiny just wants to take everything from me.”

Merlin’s eyebrows almost went off his forehead. “What?”

“My mother. My father. Morgana. Guinevere. Everyone important to me, everyone I dare to care about. It’s like destiny just wants to take it all from me. You see, Merlin,” Arthur screwed up his face thoughtfully, trying to push through the haziness to find words to express the absurd thought that had only existed in the back of his mind before now. “I have this destiny. To be king. And it’s a heavy weight. And I feel it all the time. And it’s _important_. People depend on me. I _must_ be a good king, or people suffer. And sometimes I feel like destiny wants to – to take away any distractions from that. So I don’t have anything to care about _except_ my destiny.”

Arthur glanced nervously at his servant, then pulled back in surprise at his astounded expression. His mouth hung open just a little bit, his brows furrowed almost as though in confusion. Then he let out a strange choking noise, and Arthur’s nervousness faded into embarrassed anger.

“You think it’s funny, do you?” he snapped. He hadn’t expected that. Merlin laughed at him plenty, but not normally in conversations like this.

“No,” Merlin answered immediately. “It’s a bit unexpected. Very unexpected. But I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

Arthur dared another look, and the astonishment had disappeared, replaced by thoughtfulness. The younger man leaned back, arms behind him on the slope, propping him up as he gazed at the night sky.

"I don’t suppose now would be a good time to mention that destiny didn’t _take_ Gwen – you sent her away.”

“No,” Arthur snapped. “Now would not be a good time.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “So you feel like the responsibility on you is more than you can bear, and you feel the world is out to take everything you care about from you,” he summed up, raising his eyebrows. “Arthur, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you’re not that special.”

Arthur sat up straight, the wineskin slipping from his grasp, and he scrambled to grab it before it fell down the roof. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You’re not the only one to ever feel like that,” Merlin said simply. “It’s not your prerogative as king to be the only person who feels like they’re about to collapse under the weight of expectations, and you’re certainly not the only one to ever feel like the universe is trying to take everything and everyone you love.”

Arthur spluttered for a moment. “But I mean – it’s different for me! I’m _king!_ ”

Merlin did laugh then, and when Arthur glared at him, he quickly put on an exaggerated expression of apology. “I’m sorry, did you want pity for your birthday? I mean, I had another gift for you, but if that’s what you really want, I can try to see if the string quartet from the feast is still around. They could stand up there in the window, maybe play some laments as background music for your wallowing.”

Arthur stared, unsure whether to yell at his friend or laugh. Was Merlin serious? Did other people really feel this way?

And then another thought made its way through his drunken brain.

“You have a gift for me?”

He was pretty sure Merlin had never given him a birthday gift before. And sure enough, even in the moonlight, he could see his friend’s ears turning red.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “I hadn’t really decided.”

“Well, you’ve decided now,” Arthur demanded. Part of him felt he should pretend to be humble, to insist, _Oh no, you shouldn’t have, you don’t need to get me a gift._ After all, Arthur could afford to buy anything he wanted, and Merlin had been wearing the same ratty scarves for years now.

But his curiosity got the best of him, because he really, _really_ wanted to know what Merlin got him.

“It’s not much,” Merlin said, and to Arthur’s surprise, he looked nervous. “Just something I made.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out an object, wrapped in one of those ratty scarves, and shoved it at Arthur without looking at him.

The king took it gently, pulling the scarf off, then blinked in surprise. It was a small figure, about the size of his fist, carved from a dark wood and smooth to the touch.

“The Pendragon crest,” he realized as he studied it in the moonlight.

Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You can’t really see it in the dark, but the wood has a bit of a reddish hue to it.”

Arthur ran his fingers over the dragon lightly. “I didn’t know you could do this,” he said with a curious look at his friend. Merlin just shrugged, still blushing.

“I’ve been trying to learn for a while. Just teaching myself, I mean. I’m still not very good, but I thought that one turned out well.”

“It’s perfect,” Arthur said softly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin smile at the praise.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes as Arthur thought over what Merlin had said, turning his words over in his mind as he turned the dragon over in his hands.

“Have you ever felt it?” he asked, and Merlin cocked his head to the side.

“Felt what?”

“Like you were going to be crushed by everything expected of you. Like destiny was trying to rob you of everything.”

Merlin went very still and he turned his face away, but Arthur could still see the set of his jaw.

“I mean,” he said hesitantly, “you wash socks. How much of a weight can that be? And you haven’t really lost many people, have you?” Arthur thought back, but try as he may, the only person he could remember Merlin losing was that friend in Ealdor. And while he knew Merlin had grieved deeply for him, it wasn’t exactly a life-changing loss, was it?

“Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin answered curtly, and Arthur sat up straight, startled at the use of his full name. “If you tell me you truly believe _washing your socks_ is the most I do for you, I swear by every god in the Old Religion that I will push you off this roof.”

Arthur’s eyes widened at his friend’s anger. “Threatening the king is a crime, Merlin,” he quipped, trying for a smile, and Merlin turned to glare at him.

“Then I guess I’d better make the push count so no one knows I threatened you.”

Arthur swallowed. “Of course you don’t just wash my socks,” he admitted uneasily. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Merlin sighed. “Arthur, I believe you will be the greatest king Camelot has ever known. And I do everything in my power to help you become that. To _take care of you_. To be your friend, to protect you. To help heal you when you’re injured, and to tuck you into bed when you’re drunk, and to tell you when you’re acting like a bloody ass.” Merlin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And don’t get me wrong – I don’t regret a minute of it. For the world you’ll build, for the king you are and the king you’ll be, for the Camelot that you’ll create – I believe it’s worth it. All of it. And I’d do it all again. But sometimes… sometimes it feels like more than I can do. And yes, Arthur. Sometimes it feels like it’s going to crush me.”

Arthur stared, trying to process the unexpected words. He _knew_ that Merlin did all those things, of course, but it was a bit embarrassing to have it laid out like that. And despite what Merlin said, he did _not_ tuck Arthur into bed. 

Even so, what Merlin described was hardly like the pressure of running a _kingdom_.

“I can’t imagine I’m _that_ heavy of a weight to carry,” he protested, and Merlin snorted.

“You obviously didn’t see how much you ate at tonight's feast.”

Arthur huffed and turned his attention to his wineskin. He scowled when he discovered it was empty and dropped it on the roof. Merlin reached down and snatched it before it could fall, tucking it safely behind him, and handed his own wineskin over to Arthur.

The king accepted it with a surprised smile. “Thanks,” he said, taking a swig. Then he choked, coughing on the thin liquid. “ _Water?_ ”

Merlin smirked beside him. “You’re going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow. Drinking some water now will temper it. Besides, I already said I don’t like you being up here drunk. I really don’t want to have to save you from plummeting to your death tonight.”

Arthur snorted. “How exactly would you save me?”

“I’m sure I would think of something,” Merlin said with a small smile that Arthur couldn’t quite read.

And the strange thing was, Arthur suspected he was right. Merlin probably _would_ think of something.

“I do appreciate it, you know,” he said quietly, setting the water down more carefully so it didn’t fall. “All of it. You do more than I have any right to ask of you.”

“You’ve never asked for most of it,” Merlin pointed out. “I do it because I choose to, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded. “So what has it cost you?”

Merlin’s eyes fell shut. “You mean, what has destiny taken from me?” he asked quietly.

Arthur hesitated. Part of him didn’t want Merlin to answer that question. Didn’t want to know what could bring that pained look to Merlin’s normally cheerful face. But it was too late to back out now.

“You said I wasn’t the only person who felt that way,” he reminded him.

Merlin took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip for a minute. When he released it, Arthur could see teeth marks in his skin. He let out a rough laugh, and muttered to himself, “All right then.” Then he cleared his throat, and his voice went strangely flat.

“Will was the first one, I suppose. Remember him?”

“Of course,” Arthur confirmed somberly. “He saved my life.”

Merlin nodded. “And then…well, then there was a girl I was in love with, and she died.”

“A _what?_ ” Arthur demanded, taking a moment to process the words, but Merlin had already moved on.

“Then there was my father's death. And of course Lancelot, who probably knew me better than any friend I’ve ever had, and who actually made me feel _normal._ ” Merlin shrugged. “And sometimes I wonder… I mean, I loved them. And destiny just took them from me. All of them. And sometimes I wonder why. If they were… well, like you said. Distractions. If I hadn't loved them, would they still be alive?”

Arthur drank more water, wishing it could rinse the alcohol from his brain. He needed to be sober to understand this.

“You told me you’d never met your father,” he said finally.

“That was true when I said it,” Merlin said. “I met him a few years ago, just once. He died a couple of days later.”

Arthur winced. “Was he ill?” That would make some sense; if the man knew he was dying, perhaps he’d reached out, wanting to meet his son. But Merlin just shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about how he died.”

Fair enough. Arthur wouldn’t really want to tell the story of his father’s death either.

“I had no idea. You said it was a few years ago?”

Merlin nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Perhaps it seemed silly, but all those years ago, Arthur had talked about his mother and Merlin had talked about his father, and he’d thought they’d, well – _bonded_ over it. Their missing parents was one of the earlier connections in their friendships. It hurt that Merlin had met his father and never said a word.

“You had a dragon to deal with at the time,” Merlin said with a dry smile. “So did I, for that matter. My _feelings_ had to wait.”

Arthur hated the way he said _feelings_. He said it the same way Arthur always said it. And it was one thing for Arthur to make fun of his friend’s emotions, which he always seemed to have an overabundance of, but he was surprised to find he didn’t care for it at all when Merlin made fun of them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Years too late, I know, but I’m sorry.” He hesitated, unsure if Merlin would welcome the chance to talk about it or would resent being pressured into it. Hoping for the best, he pushed ahead. “How was it? Meeting him?”

Merlin looked at him then and smiled. An honest smile. “It was good. He’d never known I existed, so he was pretty shocked. But not in a bad way. I… I think he was mostly happy about it. He called me ‘son.’ Just once, but… but I got to hear my father call me ‘son.’ And I got to call him ‘father.’”

Damn alcohol. Damn it all, Arthur was never drinking again, because he was tearing up and he couldn’t quite stop.

His father had had many flaws. He knew that. They’d differed and they’d fought and there were days when Arthur knew he would never be anything but a disappointment, but he’d _had_ him. They’d shared dinners and tournaments and long trips to other kingdoms, and Arthur could never count how many times they had called each other _father_ and _son._

And Merlin had had that for just two short days, and then he’d lost it.

For the first time, Arthur felt a rush of anger at destiny on behalf of someone other than himself.

“Will you tell me something about him?” Arthur asked softly, and Merlin thought for a moment.

“He whittled,” he said finally. “He was really good at it.”

“Whittled?”

“Wood,” Merlin clarified. “He could carve little figurines out of wood.”

Arthur’s fist clenched reflexively around the dragon, his gaze falling to where it sat grasped in his hand. Merlin said he’d been teaching himself.

Would his father have taught him if destiny hadn't stolen him?

Arthur swore under his breath, then he took a deep breath and let it out, forcing himself to relax his grip on his gift, and opted for a change of subject.

“What did you mean when you said Lancelot made you feel normal?”

Merlin winced, and suddenly Arthur was certain his friend hadn’t meant to say those words, and he would take them back if he could. He squirmed, avoiding Arthur’s eyes.

“You know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve just never been particularly good at fitting in.”

But Arthur didn’t know. Not at all.

“What are you talking about?” he said with a frown. “Everyone likes you, Merlin. Honestly, it’s kind of annoying.”

Merlin hesitated, studying Arthur for a moment, and the king met his gaze frankly. He could see doubt in his friend’s eyes, and he wanted Merlin to trust him with whatever he was holding back.

To trust him like he’d apparently trusted Lancelot.

“I’m a servant,” Merlin said finally. “But I’m the _king’s_ servant, and I’m friendly with the knights, so I’m not exactly a normal servant. The other servants might like me well enough, but I’m not quite _one of them._ And I’m not a knight, so while I might have friends there, you can hardly say I _fit in_ with them. And the nobles despise me because they think I’m insolent, of course.”

“Why was Lancelot different?” he asked, and for some reason, the question seemed to make Merlin uncomfortable.

“I guess we just knew each other so well before he became a knight,” he said awkwardly.

Arthur would bet his sword arm there was more to it than that, but he decided to let it be. He didn’t want to push Merlin into shutting down.

“And the girl?” he asked, but this time Merlin’s answer was immediate.

“No,” he said. “I’m not talking about her.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “All right,” he accepted, his curiosity growing. He’d have to try to find out more about that later.

He glanced down at the dragon in his hands again. It really was quite impressive.

And then his eyes caught something else.

“My shirt is still inside out,” he realized, and Merlin snickered.

“I know.”

He looked up indignantly. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“My first priority tonight is to keep you from falling off this roof, Arthur. Your wardrobe is the least of my concerns.”

Arthur shot him a dirty look, then turned his attention back to the dragon.

“How come I never knew any of this about you?” he asked curiously.

“Probably because I never told you any of it,” Merlin said with a glib smile.

“You always said you were an open book,” Arthur reminded him. Although he was annoyingly unsurprised at the discovery that that wasn’t quite true. He’d always felt there was something just a little bit mysterious about Merlin, something that he felt he wasn’t quite seeing. But he’d honestly thought it was mostly in his imagination.

After all, even now, with all this new information, that feeling hadn’t faded.

“And I’ve always questioned your ability to read,” Merlin quipped. But when Arthur didn’t laugh, Merlin’s smile fell.

“I just don’t like to talk about it. We stay busy, and I’d rather just… well, stay busy.”

Arthur tried to picture that. Out of everything Merlin had said, this was perhaps the most unfathomable to him.

“What?” Merlin asked, peering inquisitively at his friend.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said, shaking it off, and Merlin snorted.

“Come on, Arthur. We’ve already ripped open all the old wounds tonight. You might as well tell me.”

There was real pain in Merlin’s voice, and Arthur flinched.

But he told him.

“I’m just trying to imagine what that would be like,” he admitted. “I mean… everyone knew Guinevere and I were engaged. There was a _tournament_ , for gods’ sakes. So when she was banished, everyone knew. There were announcements. Heralds sent to the outlying villages, announcing the engagement was off. And when my father died, well… the king was dead. Of course everyone knew. And I could never react, could never seem upset or shaken. I had to be the _king_. My people needed to have faith I could lead them, regardless of what was happening.”

He had reacted in front of Merlin, though. Only once. Three nights after his father died, he’d screamed at Merlin for bringing his dinner late, a completely absurd and unreasonable response. And then he’d sat down at the table and wept, his face in his hands. And Merlin hadn’t said a word. Just made him some tea and sat him in front of the fire and brought him a blanket because he couldn’t stop shivering, even when the tears stopped. Once Arthur had calmed down, his friend had helped him into his nightclothes and into bed, and he’d sat with him until he fell asleep. Merlin had never brought the incident up again.

Arthur wondered if Merlin had wept after his father died.

No, he didn’t wonder – of course he had. Merlin cried over everything.

Arthur wondered if anyone had been there to comfort him.

“I can’t imagine,” Arthur continued, “ _no one_ knowing.”

“It might not be as different as you think,” Merlin said with a sad smile. “You still have to pretend like everything is fine. Like nothing is bothering you. Only there’s anger too, because everyone else isn’t hurting, and it kind of feels like they should be.” He nudged Arthur with his arm. “I don’t usually quite manage to fool _you_ though. You tend to catch on that something is wrong, even if you don’t know what. And sometimes you even manage to cheer me up. You can be a quite good friend when you want to be.”

And even though he was sure Merlin meant it as a compliment, Arthur heard what he wasn’t saying.

“But sometimes I’m not.”

Merlin shrugged. “Royal clotpole and all that. I must say, I have wondered – when exactly will you stop _training_ to be a prat and accept you _are_ one?”

Arthur shoved him lightly with his elbow, careful not to use much force. The roof _was_ quite steep here, after all. Had he really thought it would be a good idea to climb out here drunk? He remembered wanting fresh air and wanting to be alone, but now that the haze of alcohol had faded from his mind, he could appreciate what a stupid idea it had been.

Merlin must have read the look on his face, because he asked, “Ready to go in? Or do you still want me to go fetch the musicians?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, although there was no bite to the words. He carefully found his feet, and after taking a couple steps back to the open window, he reached a hand down to help Merlin up. He kept his hand wrapped firmly around his forearm until they were both safely in the corridor; the younger man’s coordination was truly appalling, after all. 

They made their way back to Arthur’s quarters, but the king paused before opening the door. “I can get myself back to bed, Merlin. Take the rest of the night off. And, uh, tomorrow. Take tomorrow off too.”

He wondered if a day off would make the weight Merlin spoke of any less crushing. He suspected not.

He'd have to think about that more, this idea that taking care of Arthur was a weight that Merlin carried like a destiny.

“It _is_ tomorrow,” Merlin said with a weary smile. “Does that mean I get today _and_ tomorrow off?”

Arthur gave him a dirty look, and Merlin laughed. “Fine. Goodnight, Arthur. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Merlin,” he echoed as the man turned and made his way home.

Would Merlin sleep well? Or would he be haunted by their conversation?

As he let himself into his rooms, he wondered if Merlin had nightmares. He didn’t know how the girl or Merlin’s father had died, but he did know Merlin was the only one who had been there and conscious when Lancelot died. Did he see their faces in his dreams? Did he see their deaths? Arthur certainly dreamed about those he’d lost.

And about the one he’d sent away.

He sighed and made his way to the table by his bed, opening the drawer. It seemed like the safest place to store the little dragon. But he paused before he put it away, then closed the drawer again.

Instead, he made his way to his desk and set the wooden creature down on the corner. It was heavy enough to use as a paperweight. And he didn’t want it tucked away, hidden and safe. He wanted it out where he could see it.

A reminder that the universe hadn’t quite taken everything from him. Not yet.

And gods knew he was powerless to fight destiny, but he’d do everything he could to keep it from taking anything more from Merlin.


End file.
